


Resolve

by IuvenesCor



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Father/Daughter Relationship, Gen, fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IuvenesCor/pseuds/IuvenesCor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They needed to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolve

**Author's Note:**

> I was quite pleased when I found that my edit of this fic was completed in time for Father's Day. It's the perfect kind of day for a family-centric story.
> 
> Apologies in advance for any awkward shifts in tense. (Explanation: this was written on-and-off over the period of a month or so, and at some point I'd switched from present to past tense. I felt that rewriting the entire story to one tense or the other would take away some of the artistic quality, so-- despite my typical Grammar Police attitude-- I tried to accomodate both tenses. I hope it still translates well.)
> 
> Enjoy!

It is now much easier to be afraid.

Rory was rarely wholly, point-of-no-return afraid— his reactions typically tended to resemble milder worry— on a regular basis. Yes, with each adventure of the day (of the week, of the month, of the year), and with every pursuit and capture and show-down with homicidal aliens, there was the high probability that he'd be properly scared witless, despairing over safety (namely Amy’s) and questioning if they would make it home with all of their limbs and vital organs in tact. But once his feet hit familiar soil, that healthy fear would diminish; on the peaceful excursions, his fear seemed to have melted away into little more than maintained concern. It was a slightly tiring but overall acceptable merry-go-round of emotion.

Yet now, in these years after Demon’s Run, Rory Williams is always and honestly afraid.

He fears for his daughter.

It isn't to say that he still doesn’t worry himself grey over Amy. He would gladly live (or even die) for another two thousand years to protect her, and at times he fears that he just might have to do that. But maybe he’s run with her and the Doctor for so long that he’s become slightly jaded to his previous anxieties. And besides, Amy has a home, a family, him for a nagging conscience... Amy has roots. Her past may not be the most favorable, but despite the whole business of aliens showing up in her house, she had the opportunity to grow up as a normal child: go to school, visit family, have adolescent crushes and flings, make friends, dream up hopes and aspirations for a perfect future. It seemed reasonable that, with such a life, she was less prone to stand on the crumbling precipice that sank to danger.

River never had that chance. Not really, not _properly_.

He was never given the chance to be her anchor, to be the hand that dragged her from the edge. Facts were facts: he was too meek to stop her antics when she was Mels, and he certainly hadn’t improved at doing it now.

It was his downfall: apprehension. All he wanted was to be her father; to speak reason, and to dry her tears; to tell her that he would tear apart universes for her sake. But the chance had never even been presented— not until she had already grown up into a powerfully stubborn woman and married the most unstable, irresponsible berk in existence and lived through more than a girl should ever imagine. He wants to make up for his unavoidable negligence, but he wonders if it isn’t too late. What he words he could manage are just too hard and awkward and scary to force out. She hardly leaves his sight, and he acts as the angel on her shoulder as often as he can, but it's really not enough to be comforting.

He'll eternally be afraid that he wasn’t enough of a father; that it might cost a price too dear for payment.

He is afraid of that uncertainty.

So he found himself driven to cornering the Doctor one day in the TARDIS. The girls had gone (left to explore their newest extraterrestrial playground), and Rory, without warning, began to stare the man down. He was calm; apprehensive, yes, but it was something he meant to do.

The Doctor narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "Something's bothering you."

Rory did not respond in any 'yes' or 'no' sort of way. He just set his jaw, and tried to think older and wiser (and more intimidating). "I just want to say... I want to make it clear. I need you to make sure that you keep River safe at all costs."

"I will try my best," said the Doctor, nodding solemnly. It was not entirely an unfamiliar conversation: Rory had made the Doctor pledge protection to both Amy and River rather often enough.

But it was different this time.

"No," says Rory.

It was very quick, very firm.

"I want you to promise, right here, that you are _always_ going to keep my daughter safe, as long as you're alive."

The Doctor's eyes flicked to the wall, to the floor, to his feet; his lips twitched tightly. "No one can promise the future, not even me." He seemed to gather himself (with some hard effort) before looking Rory square in the eye and declaring, "But I promise you, Rory, there's nothing more that I want than to assure your family’s safety."

They both knew it was only a small comfort.

"The only person in existence who loves River and Amy more than me is you. If time demanded it, I would die for all of you, because you're all very special, and anything I can do to make you safe is of the utmost importance. _That_ is what I can promise."

And it was actually quite a satisfying promise, though Rory still wondered and worried...

He supposes he'll never be completely satisfied with the Time Lord— and quite right, too, being the father-in-law. He only wished that he could be much more confident in the vow, or perhaps that matters of safety would not be so casually left in the Doctor's hands. But he at that moment he did realize that, by proof of the Doctor’s exceptionally genuine speech, what he had witnessed was a rare instance of Rule Number One of Dealing with the Doctor becoming defunct, and his nerves were calmed, if but a little.

So he nodded, and the men left the TARDIS without another word added to the matter.

 

<> <> <>

 

The bistro table was oddly quiet.

Rory glanced up from his alien soda and stared at his suspiciously silent family. They were tossing around looks like a Frisbee amongst themselves, clearly leaving him out of their little game. He wasn't sure how long it was exactly going on for, but it certainly didn't end soon enough. When it did, Amy cleared her throat (bless her, she thought she was being inconspicuous) and slid out of the plush booth.

"I, uh– you know, I think it's about time we head out. Let me just pop to the loo."

The Doctor shifted. "Me too. Not– er, not _with her_ , of course." He twiddled his bowtie. "River. Rory. You both can handle the check, can't you?"

The two were off like phantoms, and River coaxed Rory out of the booth before he could say a word edgewise. They approached the counter and paid for their meal (Rory insisted on paying with the allowance he and Amy had been given, though River covered the cost of the tip); he was tempted to speak up as they waited for their change, but he kept quiet. Whatever it was that they were distinctly _not_ talking about, he probably didn't want to know.

But he had a good feeling he was about to get dragged into it anyway. River's smile was a little too soft as she said, "What do you say we sit out front until they come back?" It was really a direction, not a question.

Rory still kept silent as they strolled out of the restaurant and out onto its small, sun-baked porch. River slid onto a bench while, despite her wordless attempt to have him join her, Rory opted to stand. Soon, of course, the silence between them started to nag, and he found he really could only stare at the neighboring storefronts for so long.

Swallowing, fully aware that he would probably have to kick himself later, Rory mumbled, "Mind telling me what that was about?"

At first, it was surprising that she made no attempt to distract him with a careless grin or a clueless frown. "I had a feeling you'd noticed." She smoothed her dress and stood, wandering to the orange fencing that lined the porch. "He's going to kill me if he knows I told you exactly what he said."

Rory's face crunched up in suspicious concern. "What? …Hold on, what did the Doctor say?" He huffed a sigh and calmly shook his hands as she smiled at the other side of the street. "Well come on, you've got to tell me now."

"He said..." River faced him, eyes softened and sparkling with fondness. "He told me that you and he had a little chat in the TARDIS."

"And…?" he prodded, holding back a wince.

River was mum, flicking imaginary dust specks from her shoulders.

"River!"

With a quiet little shake of the head and a smooth arch of the brow, she revealed, "He said you were terrifying."

"...Terrifying?" Rory blinked. "Me, _terrifying_? To the Doctor? Why would he even _say_ that?"

"Well, Father dear, he said that you were being very protective. Besides, I thought all men were intimidated by their father-in-laws."

"Yeah, sure," he dismissed, "but I wasn't even trying to be intimidating. Okay, serious, but—"

River chuckled. "You know how hard serious can be for the Doctor." The laughing smile dissolved into a smaller, pleasant line, and she put her hand on Rory's. "But I do have to ask: you weren't too hard on him, were you?"

"No," Rory insisted, honestly a bit surprised that she would even insinuate that he could be hard on much of anyone. Not that he was proud to admit it, but if anybody wore the trousers in their complicated four-way relationship, he certainly wasn’t the one. "I barely even said— I just— I asked him to- to be careful, watch out for...for you. Honestly, no offense, I know that's a bit of a job, but..." The words trailed off as he noted River's gentle stare. "What?"

On inspection, her smile read of a calm hesitation, as if she was holding back— an expression that’s all made up of moonbeams and reluctant waltzes. "I think you’ve likely said and done more than you think." She swallowed and turned away and (just as Rory was becoming concerned) slowly turned back again. "You don't need to worry about me so much; but I know _why_ you worry and... thank you." Rory opened his mouth, but her stare was silencing. "I know this is new for you. In many ways, it still is for me, too. But I don't want you to be so anxious because of me."

Rory stared at his shoes, scratching the nape of his neck. Now was really not the time to get emotional, and yet it was more than likely that he would embarrass himself with a sniffle or watery eyes. He tried to bring back that stern 'older and wiser' attitude— so hard when everyone he tried that on had to be significantly older than he— and mumbled, "Wouldn't be a proper parent if I weren't." Meekly, he met her eyes. "Amy and— _your mum_ and I, we want you safe. I- I know, you're grown up, need space, you're your own woman. But..." He hesitated, gripping tightly to the fence. "Everybody looks at you and sees River. Well, so did I, but now I look and I can only see Melody and... And I guess... Oh gosh, why am I making this so hard? River, I’m just…”

Before his confessions could take coherent form, she reached forward and wrapped her arms around him. His initial reaction was that of shock, that sort of awkward surprise that one would laugh off; but he returned the embrace— weakly, at first, then tightening as the shock faded away.

River needed to say nothing at all, though she comforted with a quiet "I know", and it had already set off some wetness in his eyes.

His mind was buzzing with thoughts that were rather more bursts of emotion than words or pictures. This woman, his daughter— his Melody— means more to him than life. And to know that here, on this alien porch, she was safe in his arms, made him calm. Yet, to also know that this moment meant so much more than it should; to know that it was a substitute, a rain check for many embraces, for many moments overdue and lost to Time's cruel, spindling fingers; to again realize that there was so much that his family never had (and never would have) just because of universal circumstance...it made his heart clench and burn. The Should-Have-Beens hurt more than words allowed; the Yet-to-Comes were distant and daunting.

So Rory earnestly tried to think of the Now: to think of his beautiful, awe-inspiring daughter and the love he and the others were giving, had given, and forever would give. He tried to forgive the past and hope for the future while still holding onto this moment— this deep, fleeting moment.

And most of all, he tried really hard not to cry.

(It was, remarkably, quite successful, all until the "I love you, Dad," that River whispered over his shoulder. He hardly managed a reply— "And I love you," were the words— without his voice cracking.)

But he (gradually) composed himself— and just in time, as a pair of arms caught them by surprise, circling them both. From the corner of his eye, he saw a welcome flash of red hair; he heard his wife exclaim, "Oi, you too, join in!" before two more (slightly reluctant, or maybe just _awkward_ ) arms joined the embrace. River chuckled warmly, and Rory squirmed under the increasing pressure.

"All right, getting crushed," he mumbled, a touch abashed.

They all peeled off in separate directions, still facing one another. Through a few wordless glances distributed all around— this time, Rory was happily included— it was unanimously agreed that all problems were resolved and that it was time to move on to the next tourist trap.

It wasn't _all_ resolved, not really. Rory is well aware that there was still so much to do, so much to say, so much to stand up both for and against. But he had achieved one victory this day. He knows: River has never been one for loquacity, and she has long since learned to put so much meaning into a smile or a frown or a blink— she could speak without a voice and promise him that his words (or even lack of them) had made their mark. She knows his fears; she wants to put them to rest. Perhaps she had always known, and had only been waiting for the right opportunity… he can’t really be certain. But regardless, here in the Now, it is certain that they both understand.

And for that certainty, it is easier to be unafraid.

 

_fin_


End file.
